There was a slight hesitation, and then Emily’s gasp was loud in his ear.
“Hey! Wait a minute! That’s not a bimbo! That’s my sister!” Her voice carried like a Tibetan gong, bouncing and reverberating around the space, and everyone from the tent all the way up to the International Space Station froze in place to stare at her. Including Tag and the Bimbo.
Heat cascaded over Ryan as his eyes darted from his father, to the girl in the pink shorts, to Emily, and then back around again. “Your sister?” He had the good sense to keep his voice at a whisper. “You said you didn’t know anyone named Daisy!”
“I don’t, you moron. Her name is Lilly. And she is not a bimbo!” Her eyes flashed, but she managed to lower her voice again. Unfortunately for him, she also crossed her arms defensively, effectively pushing her breasts higher and deepening that cleavage, but he didn’t have time to fully appreciate that right now because he sensed a bit of a shitstorm coming. The Bimbo’s name was Lilly? Shit. Ryan was always lousy with names. He must have gotten his flowers mixed up, and when Tag had made introductions last night, Ryan was so damned distracted by her age he’d only been half listening.
“Well, whatever her name is, she was with my father last night. Did you know that?” The whisper burned in his throat.
Her forehead creased in a frown as she pulled him by the arm into the corner of the tent. “No, of course I didn’t. I also didn’t realize your father was a dirty old man, but I guess I should have figured that out this morning when you said he was involved with a twenty-five-year-old. She’s twenty-six, by the way, but still, what the hell is he doing toying with my little baby sister?”
Ryan felt his surprise turn toward irritation. “My father is not a dirty old man. If anyone is toying with anyone, it’s your sister toying with him. My father is a good man.”
“Yeah, right. I’m sure his intentions are very honorable.” She said honorable like the word was too big for her mouth.
Ryan tore his gaze from Emily and looked back over at the other two. Whatever the hell that girl’s name was, her face had turned as hot pink as those incredibly short shorts, and a burgundy flush had crept over Tag’s tan face, too. They both looked guilty as sin. Bystanders in the tent continued to observe, clearly wondering just what was happening in the Buy-Buy Miss American Pie tent. The guy in the beekeeping hat even raised the veil to get a better look.
“You have to be making a mistake. There’s just no way,” Emily whispered.
“I’m not making a mistake. I know that’s her. The three of us had dinner together last night.”
“Well, then your father is totally taking advantage of her. He should be ashamed of himself.”
“Uh, excuse me. I think it’s the other way around. She’s taking him for a ride.”
“Oh really? He’s the president of some big company in California, and she’s a girl who’s never lived off the island. Who has the upper hand here? Your father is a dirty old lecher.”
Ryan tried to keep his voice down, but what he really wanted to do was shout. Not his style, but given the circumstances it was understandable. “He’s not a lecher! And if anyone is taking advantage here, it’s her. She thinks he’s her ticket off this island. She’s using him.”
As they bickered under their breath, the cluster of speculating tourists parted like the Red Sea and Ryan’s dad crossed the small expanse of the tent to reach his side. Another millisecond later Emily’s sister, oh my God, Emily’s sister? She crossed over, too, until the four of them squared off, with Chloe having snuck in behind her mother.
“Lilly? Seriously?” Emily hissed, quiet but insistent. “This is the guy? Do you realize he’s fifty-nine years old?”
“How do you know how old I am?” Tag asked, as if that was remotely important at the moment.
“I told her,” Ryan said, trying to draw in a breath but feeling like his lungs were full of sludge. It was really hot under this tent all of a sudden.
The crowd started to murmur and move again, but the bystanders were doing a collectively piss-poor job of trying to act as if they weren’t listening. The beekeeper had sidestepped a few feet closer, lowering his veil again as if it made him just a little stealthier.
“You told her how old I was? When?” Tag asked.
“At the airport. Or on the phone. I don’t remember exactly, but this is the woman I shared a taxi with, and apparently she’s your . . . girlfriend’s sister.” It was as awkward to say as it was to hear.
“Could we talk about this someplace else? Please?” The Bimbo looked over her shoulder at the interested crowd of bystanders. “Or better yet, talk about it later?”
“So this really is the guy?” Emily asked again.
“He’s the guy,” Ryan said tersely, “and she’s the Bimbo.”
“I’m not a bimbo!” That one was loud, too. For a couple of women trying to keep a secret, Emily and her sister sure weren’t very discreet with their exclamations. People were starting to pull out their phones to snap pictures. If Trillium Bay had a gazette, this would surely be front page, above the fold. Meanwhile, his dad had the stones to look at him with a stern, fatherly expression. “Ryan, Lilly is not a bimbo, and I didn’t raise you to insult women that way. You need to apologize.”
He tried to wrap his head around the irony of that. “Really, Dad? You’re going to lecture me about respecting women right now? I’m not the one who jumped into bed with a twenty-five-year-old.”
“I’m twenty-six,” the girl said, as if that made all the difference.
“Eww, Aunt Lilly!” Chloe gasped. “You were in a bed with him? He’s like a grandpa.”
Shit, Ryan had forgotten Chloe was there. Now he did feel like an asshole, and maybe he felt a little bit bad about calling Emily’s sister a bimbo, too. It hadn’t felt like such an insult back when he didn’t know anything about her. Now he did.
“I’m sorry, Chloe. I forgot you were there. And . . . Lilly, I didn’t mean to call you a gold-digging bimbo.”
“A what?” she gasped. “A gold-digging bimbo?”
Shit. He’d let that one slip out. This was not his day.
“Yes, Lilly, Ryan and his brothers think you’re after Tag’s money.” Emily arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms more tightly, adding to that cleavage. He wished she’d stop doing that. He could hardly claim the moral high ground about respecting women if he was staring at her breasts.